


i can't be just friends (you're messing with my head)

by bellawritess



Category: All Time Low (Band)
Genre: (Lots of), Alcohol, Coming Out, Drinking, First Kiss, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Happy Ending, High School, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Miscommunication, Sexuality Crisis, best friends with benefits, but dont think too hard about it please n thank you, i hate miscommunication but sometimes it's a necessary evil, i'm so sorry i know i know, oh hey, so. you know. sex jokes. dick jokes. you know, takes place in 2003ish, teenage boy talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27651224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: “Hey, did you mean it when you said you’d fuck me?” Alex asks. For about the millionth time, he wonders why he even bothers opening his fucking mouth.“Yeah,” Jack says.
Relationships: Jack Barakat/Alex Gaskarth
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	i can't be just friends (you're messing with my head)

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHH i've been working on this fic on and off since **literally the end of may**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i cannot tell you how stoked i am that it's finally done!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this fic was the first time i ever wrote jalex so i would safely call this a little bit of a big deal. at least to me
> 
> so!! the fic owes a lot to two people!!! firstly [helen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin). for starters the fic, especially alex, is heavily influenced by her ~~(angsty)~~ jalex fics from back in the day. helen is also the reason i write jalex at all !!! also i CANNOT tell you how exciting it is to have helen leaving comments on a doc. feels great. feels organic
> 
> second of all [sam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellingatbabylon) :)) quelle surprise right lmao but sam ALSO beta read (i guess that's what beta reading is?) this and was very excited about it with me and !!! yeah. i love you both so much honestly don't know what i did to deserve you but i am grateful <3
> 
> big tw in this for alcohol/underage drinking!! also obviously no explicit content (it's rated M and also, i am me) but there's a lot of sexual humor/references to sex/etc because these are some Teenage Boys so approach w caution if that's something you're not about i guess
> 
> title is from 2/14 by the band camino (kinda appropriate right? it's a song about being fwb we do our research here at bellawritess)
> 
> and without further ado! enjoy :)

“We should get that hot skater guy to join the band,” Jack says thoughtfully. Alex is a little drunk, but Jack’s a little drunk too, so it’s fine.

“Who?”

“Zack. I think his name is Zack?”

Alex racks his brain and comes up empty. “No idea.”

“Seriously? He’s like. Always skating. Everywhere. He’s like a hipster skater hot guy. But he _pulls it off._ ”

“You think he’s hot?” Alex asks without meaning to.

“You _don’t_?” Jack says incredulously. “Have you seen his, like. Fuck. What are arm muscles called. Quads. Elbows. Biceps. BICEPS. Have you seen his biceps?”

“Well,” Alex says pragmatically, “I’m straight.”

“Bummer, dude,” Jack says, flicking his gaze over to Alex. “You’re missing out.”

“Wait, aren’t you — are you not? Straight?”

“I don’t know, man,” Jack says, and he somehow makes it sound like it’s the easiest thing in the world, to just not know. “Can’t I just think people are hot and be done with it? Would I let Paul Rudd suck my dick? Yeah, totally. Would I let — what the fuck is the girl’s name?”

“Katie?”

“Yeah, would I let her suck my dick? I mean, probably. Older chicks.” Jack shrugs.

Alex hums. “I’d let Katie suck _my_ dick.”

“Wait, Abby,” Jack says, raising a valid point. “She’d fuck me up, man. I know she would, but I’d let her do it.”

“So like, you like dick?” Alex blurts out. He doesn’t know why he’s pursuing the topic. He should drop it. But Jack is so easygoing, and even if he gives Alex a strange look before he answers, Alex is a little too drunk to care.

(Okay, so maybe he’s more than a little drunk.)

“Yeah, I guess,” Jack says. He takes another swig from the mostly-empty vodka bottle between them. 

“Have you ever, like.” Alex bites his lip and takes the bottle out of Jack’s hands to drink. He swallows. “Like, have you ever kissed a boy? Fucked a boy? How do you even know?”

“How do I know?” Jack doesn’t sound offended, just pensive, which is jarring given how very drunk he is. “I don’t know, I just know. Like, look at me. No, actually look at me, Alex. Would you fuck me?”

Alex has a blindingly terrifying moment where he thinks, _yes_ , and his heart stops. He grips the neck of the bottle tighter and says, firmly, “No.” He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“Well, then you’re obviously straight,” Jack says. “I’m irresistible, so.”

“I don’t understand how that helps _you_ know,” Alex says.

“Well, I’d fuck you,” Jack says, like he’s just said _I have homework_ or _this is my bus._ Alex chokes on air.

“You would?”

Jack smirks, mischievous. “I _will_. While you’re sleeping.”

And just like that, Alex can breathe. “I’m gonna put mouse traps in my bed,” he threatens. “To catch your dick.”

“You’d get _your_ dick in them first, you dumbass.”

“My dick’s too big, a mouse trap could never contain it.”

Jack snorts.

“Would you fuck the hot skater guy?” Alex asks.

“Oh, definitely,” Jack says, and then whistles. “For _sure_.”

Alex is a little offended that hot skater guy Zack gets an _oh, definitely,_ and all Alex got was a throwaway line. Then he realizes it doesn’t matter at all, because he’s _straight_ and he’s not going to fuck Jack anyway.

“Would you fuck…Bush?” he asks.

Jack grins. “Bush would fuck me, and I’d let him. That man can do whatever he wants to me.”

“Bush fucks you while you fuck Dick Cheney,” Alex suggests.

“Oh, man, Alex. You have the best ideas.”

“Wow, I finally uncovered the contents of Jack Barakat’s wank bank.”

“You don’t know what kind of dirty secrets I have in there,” Jack promises.

“Pictures of me, probably,” Alex says. “You nasty little shit.”

“I stole them from your family photo albums,” Jack says. “Your mom will never know.”

Alex cackles. It seems kind of hilarious to him, suddenly, that Jack might be jerking off to the thought of him. “That’s pretty gay,” he says. As soon as he says it he wishes he could take it back, because that’s a _word,_ a real word that can be used to describe people. But Jack is laughing now, and he doesn’t seem to care.

“Your mom’s pretty gay,” he says, snorting.

“Fuck you.” Alex downs the rest of the bottle of vodka, ignoring Jack’s protest, and says, “We should — yeah. Do something. Fun.”

“Recruit hot skater guy,” Jack says, wiggling his eyebrows. “He couldn’t say no to us.”

It sounds like the best idea anyone’s ever had in the history of ever. “Fuck yeah,” Alex says. “Let’s recruit hot skater guy.”

Hot skater guy is nowhere to be found. It makes sense, because it’s nearly ten p.m. and nobody in their right mind would be out, skating, in front of a school, but for some reason neither Alex nor Jack had thought of that for the duration of the walk. Now they’re standing in front of the school, which is empty and dark, and Alex looks at Jack, and they both burst out laughing.

It’s probably a bad idea to be drunk around a high school this late at night, but fortunately they’re both drunk enough that they don’t care, so when Jack stumbles over to the steps leading up to the doors, Alex just follows, sitting messily next to him, knocking shoulders.

“We’re gonna need some more band members,” Jack says, “if we’re gonna have a band.”

“I don’t know, we could probably make it,” Alex says. “There are two-pieces out there.”

“Well, we don’t have a drummer,” Jack says. “I’m pretty sure that’s the main thing you need. And I’m not learning.”

“Hey, I’m not learning! The band was my idea.”

“The band was fucking both of our ideas, you jackass.”

“But _mostly_ mine, and anyway I’m the lead singer. I can’t be the drummer.”

“Then maybe we should _get a fucking drummer._ ”

"I thought you were recruiting Rian!"

“ _You_ try asking Rian. He just ignores me now.”

“That's 'cause no one in their right mind would join a band with you in it.”

Jack ignores the obvious opening to diss Alex. “That’s why we need hot skater guy. Then at least we can have some kind of rhythm section.”

“Does hot skater guy even play drums? Wait, what the fuck does hot skater guy play?”

“Bass,” Jack says dreamily. “It’s so hot, dude, you don’t even know. Like, a guy who plays _bass?_ I’m on my knees already.”

Alex is quiet for a minute, trying to process this chain of thoughts — that a guy who plays bass could be hot — and comes up mostly with the conclusion that he thinks a guy who plays guitar is hotter. That’s probably some kind of psychological self-cest that Freud would have wet dreams about, but whatever.

“Hey, did you mean it when you said you’d fuck me?” Alex asks. For about the millionth time, he wonders why he even bothers opening his fucking mouth.

“Yeah,” Jack says. Everything is so fucking simple to him. Alex is jealous.

“Why?”

Jack shrugs. His shoulder brushes Alex’s as it moves. “I dunno, dude. You’re hot, I’m horny. Like, I’d fuck pretty much anyone. You’re not that special.”

Alex isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“Would — what about like, would you kiss me? But not fuck me? Hypothetically,” he hurriedly adds. “I’m just wondering.”

“Yeah,” Jack says again. He turns to look at Alex. “Why, you want to?”

Alex splutters. “Do I — what? Do I want to?”

“Well, you kinda sound like you want to,” Jack says. “I don’t think it’d be weird. We’re pretty good friends, right? Like, best friends? I think we’re best friends.”

“We’re best friends,” Alex confirms.

“Yeah, so what’s one best friend’s tongue down another best friend’s throat? Between friends?” Jack turns his gaze away from Alex and stares instead across the field that opens up in front of their high school. “It’s only weird if we make it weird, you know.”

“But I’m straight,” Alex says quietly.

“Okay,” Jack says agreeably. “I take it back, then.”

“No, wait.” Fuck. Where is this coming from? Alex doesn’t want to kiss Jack. Does he? _Do I?_ he thinks, and his mind slams the panic button, _NO_ flashing in blaring lights behind his eyes.

 _It’s not romantic,_ he tries to convince himself. _He said he’d fuck anyone. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just my best friend, and we’re, like, experimenting. That’s what friends are for, right?_

He listens for the immediate rejection of his brain again, but instead gets nothing, and it’s unsettling, the abrupt silence. Jack’s looking at him now, waiting, as Alex had requested, apparently.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Alex tells Jack. 

“Not to me,” Jack says, although there’s a look in his eye that Alex isn’t sure about. But he has to take Jack at face value, just like Jack is doing for him. 

“Fine,” he says. “Okay. Kiss me.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Oh, _now_ you’re having second thoughts?” 

“I’m not. I’m just wondering if you are.”

“Jack,” Alex says frustratedly, “you’re making it weird.”

Jack raises a hand in his own defense, like _sorry, sorry,_ and then leans in carefully, more carefully than Alex has ever seen Jack do anything, and presses his lips against Alex’s.

It _is_ weird, Alex thinks, but only for a second; then his instincts kick in, and he tilts his head the other way and kisses back, eyes falling shut. Jack takes the opening for what it is, and his hand comes to rest on Alex’s waist, their knees knocking together as Alex wraps his fingers around the back of Jack’s neck. He tries not to think about the fact that this is _Jack_ he’s kissing, and that makes it pretty easy to get lost in it, let Jack’s tongue pry into his mouth and trace the inside. Jack’s a _good_ kisser, Alex decides. He suspects, from the sound Jack makes in the back of his throat, that Jack thinks the same of Alex.

Inside his chest, Alex’s heart is racing faster than ever. He’s terrified to break the kiss, to have to pull away and see Jack’s face, accept that this is actually Jack, his best friend Jack, _a guy_ , that he’s making out with, so he prolongs the kiss as much as possible, pressing forward when Jack leans back, tightening his grasp on Jack. It feels weirdly possessive of him, but Jack comes so easily back to him, teeth scraping against Alex’s lower lip. 

This time Alex makes an unintentional noise, one he can’t take back but also can’t help. It feels really fucking good. Jack’s mouth slotted over his feels really, really fucking good, better than it has any right being, better than it should because they’re both guys and Alex is straight and it doesn’t _mean_ anything. It doesn’t. 

Jack’s fingers brush up under Alex’s t-shirt, grazing the skin against his hip, and Alex shivers violently and jolts away, which effectively ends the kiss.

“Shit, sorry,” Jack says good-naturedly, and pulls his hand back into his own lap. Alex pants, desperate to catch his breath, to not let on how fucking good that was and how badly he wants to do it again. He wishes he hadn’t reacted.

“It’s fine,” Alex says. “Your hands are cold.”

“Unlike that kiss, which was _hot_ ,” Jack says. Alex chuckles, and it’s all nerves. “I mean, I know you’re straight and stuff, but damn.”

Yeah. “Yeah,” Alex says, because if Jack still believes it, then Alex does too. “I’m still straight.”

“I’ll convert you yet,” Jack says ominously. “Just you wait.”

Alex breathes a laugh. “You wish.”

Jack tilts his head, grinning with the same mischievous look. “Eh. You’re no hot skater guy, but you’re alright.”

“Hey,” Alex says, mock-offended. “Whose tongue was just down your throat? Was it hot skater guy’s?”

“I should be so lucky,” Jack says wistfully. “But I’ll settle for you in the meantime.”

Alex matches Jack’s grin. It’s not weird. Jack makes it not weird. Jack’s the best friend ever, because a minute ago Alex was moments from doing some unholy things to Jack and he knows, just _knows_ Jack would have let him — and now here they are, talking about it like it’s a fucking joke. 

Alex loves Jack.

(As a friend. Obviously.)

“Thanks for not making it weird,” he says.

“If you thank me, it makes it weird,” Jack says. “Hey, can we do that again sometime?”

“Sure.” Alex swallows and tries not to sound nervous or excited, even though he’s both. “Just to be clear, though, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“How many more times can Alex remind me that making out with each other doesn’t mean we’re in love?” Jack wonders loudly. Alex shoves his shoulder.

“Fuck you.”

“In your dreams.”

 _I just might,_ Alex thinks.

“Come on,” Jack says. “Please. _Please._ One jam sesh.”

“Oh my God,” Rian says, burying his head in his arms on the desk. “Leave me alone, asshole.”

“You’re a terrible friend,” Jack says. “You have all these drum skills and you won’t even fucking share?”

“I don’t want to spend any more minutes than absolutely necessary looking at your face,” Rian says. It’s kind of rude, which is what Alex likes about Rian.

“Come on, Rian,” he says. He doesn’t know Rian as well as Jack, but he’s getting there. Plus, he’s pretty sure he can do puppy dog eyes better than Jack. When Jack tries, it just looks like he’s trying and failing to seduce you.

“Not you too,” Rian says. “Find someone else. I’m giving up drums.”

“Liar.”

“I will if it means you stop harassing me about your band.”

“We don’t want you to give up drums, we want you to give your drumming talent to our band,” Alex says. “Please. Just come once, and you’ll see. Please?”

“Please?” Jack echoes, with pleading eyes.

“Pleeeeeeeease?”

Rian heaves the deepest sigh ever, and says, “I fucking hate you both. Fine. _Once._ And then you can never bother me about it again.”

“Fuck yeah!” Jack yells, and immediately receives a stern look from their teacher.

“ _Français, s’il vous plait, Monsieur Barakat,_ ” she says. 

“ _Je t’aime,_ ” Jack tells Rian. Alex is pretty sure that’s the extent of Jack’s French ability, but technically it’s the extent of Alex’s own ability as well, so he doesn’t say anything.

“I already regret this,” Rian says.

“By the way, we’re gonna jam at your house,” Jack adds, while Alex tries to look as innocent as possible. “Since you have the drum kit.”

Rian groans.

Hot skater guy’s name does, in fact, turn out to be Zack, and he takes some convincing, but eventually he caves and agrees to join the band. And Rian is still there, because as promised, the band sounds tight as fuck with a drummer — like, _way_ better, Alex is wondering how they ever thought they sounded good before Rian — and suddenly, they’re, like. A real band.

Like, a _real_ band.

Rian’s brother also buys them booze, which is a step way up from nicking it from Jack’s parents. Not that Jack’s parents seem to mind, but at least now they can have deniability, or whatever.

Anyway, the point is Alex is drunk again, and so is Jack, and Rian is getting there. Zack is sitting a ways away, brooding a little bit or whatever he’s doing. He’s quieter than the rest of them. Alex is worried they’re going to scare him off, but he’s also pretty sure Zack’s locked in. With the effort it took to convince him to join, it’d just be surrender to leave now, and Zack doesn’t seem like a quitter.

“Zack,” Jack says, in a whiny voice. “Drink.”

“I’m okay,” Zack says.

“Did I ask if you’re okay?” Jack waves the Smirnoff in Zack’s direction. “Drink, dude, you’re gonna hate it if you’re the only sober one.”

Alex wonders if this is Jack’s botched attempt at flirting. If it is, it sucks.

“I’m not drinking that shit, Jack,” Zack says dryly. “It tastes like gasoline.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Alex accuses.

“He’s drunk gasoline,” Rian says logically. “Duh.”

“I haven’t drunk gasoline,” Zack says, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, one of us has to be sober to remember the blackmail stories about the rest of you.” 

“Oh, I see,” Jack says, grinning broadly. “You’re just a piece of shit.”

“You’re pressuring me to drink,” Zack points out.

“It’s band bonding. We’re bonding as a band.”

“I’ll drink when there’s a party. You have my word.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Jack says, pointing to Zack, and then he takes a swig from the bottle, pulls a face, and hands it back to Alex. Alex takes a long drink that he doesn’t need and passes it to Rian.

“Let’s play a game,” Jack suggests, bouncing on his bed. “Truth or dare.”

“Absolutely not,” Rian says. “I will literally never be drunk enough to play truth or dare with you. Ever.” 

“I’m in,” Alex says. “You’re a little bitch, Rian.”

“You _begged_ me to join this band.”

“And aren’t you glad you did?”

“I’m in,” Zack says, surprising them all. It must show on their faces. “Jesus, I know how to have fun.”

“You’re gonna play sober truth or dare with drunk Jack?” Rian asks, as if that’s a sentence he wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy. “Damn, Zack, you’ve got balls of steel.”

Zack smiles at that. “Fine. Pass the booze.”

Alex hoots as Zack chugs from the bottle. He smacks his lips. “Alright,” he says. “Someone start.”

“Rian, truth or dare,” Jack says immediately.

“I’m not fucking playing,” Rian grouses.

“Are too. Truth or dare.”

“I’m pretty sure this is, like, coercion. You can get arrested for this.”

“If you’re in Jack’s bedroom you’re playing truth or dare,” Jack announces. “Rian. Truth or fucking dare.”

Rian makes a very loud, long-suffering sound of disapproval. “I fucking hate you,” he tells the ceiling. “Uh, fuck it. Truth.”

“Okay, fuck marry kill with the three of us.”

Rian makes a sound like an aborted laugh. “Kill you,” he tells Jack. “Don’t care about the rest.”

“You’re the worst friend ever.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve already used that line on me.”

“‘Cause it’s still true, asshole.”

“Who are you gonna fuck?” Alex presses. “Me or Zack? Don’t let my scrawny build fool you, I’m a monster in the sheets.”

Rian shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips. “Fine, I’ll fuck Alex. I have more faith in Zack’s domestic ability anyway. He skateboards.”

“Yeah, I skateboard,” Zack says. He takes another drink from the bottle, which is hanging loosely in his grasp. Fair enough, Alex thinks; he’s got some catching up to do, and this is their second Smirnoff.

“Zack, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“You guys are so boring,” Jack mutters. Alex digs his elbow into Jack’s side. 

“If you could kill Jack and get away with it —”

“No fair!” Jack squawks. “Stop plotting my fucking murder in my own bedroom!”

“He loves it,” Alex says. “He has a masochism kink.”

“I do _not_ ,” Jack says emphatically. “I have a self-preservation kink. No more threats on my life or you’re kicked out.”

“Ruins all my fun,” Rian says, grinning. “Fine. Zack. If the band tanks, what are you gonna do?”

“The band won’t tank,” Zack says calmly, and then takes another drink like he hasn’t just made the statement of the century.

“Well, hey now,” Alex says. “Don’t get too excited.”

“Yeah, Alex’s balls haven’t even dropped,” Jack says. Alex kicks him.

“I’ll probably do photography,” Zack tells Rian. “But I don’t think the band will tank. We’re all at the same rehearsals, right? Because we sound really tight to me.”

Alex tries to argue with that, but he doesn’t want to. “Okay,” he says. “Fuck it. I believe Zack. If he says the band won’t tank, then it won’t.”

“Hell yeah,” Rian says. “I believe him too. Since we’re married, I guess.”

“I didn’t say I’d marry you,” Zack says. “You have to propose.”

“Will you marry me?”

“HOLD ON!” Jack shouts. “Fuck you both. If anyone is marrying Zack, it’s me, since I’m the most attractive member of the band. And also, I didn’t get to say that I believe him too.”

Zack gives Jack such an earnest smile that Alex thinks he should look away. “I can’t marry you if I’m marrying Rian.”

“None of us are getting married,” Alex says. “Can you imagine how bad that would be for the band if you split up?”

Jack turns and glares at Alex. “Shut up, asshole. You’re just jealous ‘cause you’re straight and we’re all guys so you can’t marry any of us.”

“I’m not the only straight guy,” Alex protests. He squints suspiciously at the rest of the room. “Am I?”

“I’m not,” Zack says. “But Rian probably is.”

“Wait, you’re not?” Rian and Jack say at the same time.

Zack huffs. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“It’s not,” Jack says quickly. “I’m not either.”

“I am,” Rian says. “I mean, I’m not _not_ , but I’m not. I mean.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I just said. I like girls. Hot girls. Girls are hot, mainly.”

“For the record, you said you’d fuck Alex,” Jack points out.

“You said that too,” Alex says to Jack, which doesn’t seem like a scandalous thing to say when they’re all this drunk. “Oh, wait. Rian, I think you’re gay.”

“I’m not fucking gay,” Rian says. “I mean, I’m not like — now I seem like an asshole. Fuck you guys. I don’t care if I _am_ gay, I’m just not.”

“Yet,” Jack says.

“Yet,” Rian amends. “And every second I spend with you is another second I’m positive I’ll never like dick.”

Jack flips Rian off, and Zack has a weird look on his face as his eyes jump from Jack to Alex and back, and Alex feels like they just had a whole different conversation, but he’s not sure what it was.

“It’s Zack’s turn,” he says loudly, to refocus the room. 

“Oh yeah,” Zack says. “Uh. Jack. Truth or dare.”

Alex is feeling a little left out, but Jack looks pleased at being targeted. “Dare.”

Zack chews on his lower lip for a moment. “Whatever I come up with is probably gonna suck,” he warns.

“Crowdsource the dare,” Alex suggests. “Audience participation.”

“That’s cheating,” Jack says, which is pretty rich since Jack is, like, the number one audience participator when it’s _anyone_ else receiving the dare.

“Dare you to, uh,” Zack says, “kiss Alex.”

“Okay,” Jack says. “I mean, okay?” This to Alex.

Alex levels a glare at Zack. “Creative,” he says.

“I offered to sit out, and you all gave me shit,” Zack says in his defense. Which, well. Is true.

“So like, what are the parameters? Do we have to make out? How long?”

“Oh my God,” Alex mutters. “Stop being a little bitch, Jack.”

Jack shrugs. “Free show for you guys,” he says to Rian and Zack, and then turns his head and pulls Alex in for a kiss.

Alex remembers, sternly, that this is a dare, and he will _not_ open his mouth, and this is a two-second kiss that means even _less_ than nothing because it’s for a fucking game. But he still feels his face heat up when Jack pulls away, and Jack can probably tell, even though he doesn’t say anything.

“That was barely a kiss,” Rian says.

“You want more than that, you have to pay,” Jack says. “I’m not that easy.”

“You _so_ are that easy.”

“My turn!” Jack says happily, ignoring Rian. “Alex!” Shocker. “Truth or dare.”

Alex isn’t sure what would be more terrifying in this room, and which choice would give Jack more power to fuck him over. “Dare,” he finally says, hesitantly.

“Hmmm.” Jack strokes his chin maliciously. “Throw the bottle out the window and yell ‘fuck the police.’”

“Your mom is going to blacklist me from your house,” Alex says, although he’s relieved (and maybe a little disappointed?) that this dare is relatively tame. He rolls off the bed, grabs the bottle from Zack’s hand, and swirls around the remaining dregs of vodka. Zack takes the bottle back and finishes it off. Alex grins and heads for Jack’s window, which faces the front of the house. He pulls it open. The night air breezes through his hair, and he winds up and then throws the bottle as far as it’ll go, screaming, “FUCK THE POLICE!” into the night as Jack whoops. 

“We’re all going to be arrested,” Rian says, although even he’s grinning. Alex thinks it’s a little exhilarating for all of them.

“Cool fuckin’ band backstory, though,” Alex points out. “Forged an unbreakable bond behind bars.”

“Jack!” 

Oh, fuck, that’s Jack’s mom. Jack makes a grimace that looks vaguely apologetic, and yells back, “Yeah?”

“Did you just throw a glass bottle out the window?”

Jack winces. “No?”

Technically not a lie.

There’s a pause, and then Jack’s mom’s voice comes back, sounding a little more defeated: “I think it’s time you sent the boys home.”

Jack pouts. “Fine,” he yells back. “Just a minute.”

“I cannot get home in this state,” Rian announces. “I will die.”

“I could if I were walking, but I boarded here,” Zack says. He’s just cool enough that he can say he _boarded_ without sounding too pretentious. 

“Just carry it,” Rian says. “We’ll all walk. Band bonding.”

“You think I’m leaving my room for you fuckers? After all the abuse I put up with? No way, man. I’m staying. Good riddance.”

“Hey,” Alex says. “I’m staying.”

“Do you _have_ to?” Jack groans, but he grins up at Alex. “Fine. Walk the guests down. Don’t act too drunk in front of mom.”

“I would never,” Alex says, not that Jack’s mom cares at all what they do. 

“You’re a shitty host,” Rian says.

“Yup,” Jack says, popping the P. “Bye, Rian. Bye, Zack. See you on Monday.”

“No practice tomorrow?” Zack asks, confused. 

“You wanna rehearse hungover?”

Zack screws up his face. “Okay. Good point. See you Monday.” He flashes Jack a big smile, and then Alex ushers them both downstairs.

“See you guys,” he says.

“This,” Rian says, gesturing vaguely around them, “never again. Until we have, like, gigs. _Work._ It’s a band.”

“What are you, the band mom? Grow up,” Alex says, sniffing.

Zack grins, lifts a hand in farewell — ever the silent one, that Zack — and disappears out the door. 

“Bastard,” Rian says. “Took off without me. Okay, bye, Alex. See you Monday. Unfortunately.”

“Ah, you love me,” Alex says.

Rian flips him off as he leaves. Alex bounds back up the stairs and takes a running jump into Jack’s bed.

“Didn’t even see your mom,” he tells a disgruntled Jack. “She’s probably watching TV.”

“Dude, I am _drunk_ ,” Jack says, giggling underneath Alex. Alex rolls off of him, feeling a little bizarre all of a sudden. “Super drunk.”

“Me too,” Alex says. “Your fucking fault.”

“How’s it my fault?”

“Okay, Rian’s fault.” Alex bites his lip. “We should maybe stop drinking at home. Like, go to parties.”

“Ah, fuck parties,” Jack says, waving him off. “We _are_ the party.”

They’re just four guys who cover punk music, but Alex doesn’t say so. It’s fun to think that they’re something more than that.

There’s a long stretch of quiet as Alex settles back against the pillows, side by side with Jack but not really touching. It was easy not to think about it when they were all there together, but now that it’s just Alex and Jack, and Alex is _hammered_ , he’s thinking about it again.

Jack rolls onto his side. “Hey,” he says. “Wanna make out?”

Thank God. “Yeah,” Alex says, because he really, really does. Jack looks pleased at this answer and wastes no time in catching Alex’s lips between his. Alex can taste the vodka on his breath, although at this point it’s normal; he’s been breathing alcohol for the better part of two hours now, so Jack mostly just tastes _familiar_ , and Alex is drunk enough not to think that’s terrifying (even though it should be).

Jack shifts, at a strange angle beside Alex, and Alex thinks _fuck it_ , because if they’re already making out, like, they might as well commit. He reaches for Jack’s shirt and tugs, and Jack pulls away long enough to swing a leg over Alex’s hips, straddling him against the bed, and then they’re kissing again. Heat pools in Alex’s gut, and he whines, throaty and piercing in the otherwise quiet room, something that might be Jack’s name, if it could be translated. 

Jack licks the inside of Alex’s mouth and then pulls away, dipping down to suck on Alex’s neck. It feels criminally good, and there’s fire on all of Alex’s nerve endings, and this time he really does say Jack’s name through a whine. “Jack,” he manages, breathless. “Fuck, Jack.”

Jack pulls away from Alex’s neck (that’s going to leave a mark, Alex thinks distantly; he should be worried about that, but he’s not) and meets his eyes. Alex feels heady and dizzy and alive, and he can’t think about anything but needing Jack, wanting Jack, to never stop touching Jack if he can help it; it’s so fucking good, but the spell will break as soon as they’re sober, and Alex needs this.

“Tell me to stop,” Jack says lowly. Alex blinks. “Whenever,” Jack amends. “When you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

“I don’t fucking want you to stop,” Alex growls. “Ever.”

He pulls Jack in, connects their lips again, closing his mouth over Jack’s self-satisfied smirk. Fine. Jack can be self-satisfied if he wants to be. They’re both willing participants in this, and fuck if Alex isn’t taking advantage of that fact. He _wants_ this. He wants Jack.

He bites on Jack’s lower lip and drags it between his teeth, and Jack hisses, “Fuck, Alex.” It feels intoxicating, reducing Jack to a plea like that, and Alex wants it again and again. He wraps his hands around Jack’s hips, pulls him closer, and Jack says, “ _Fuck,_ Alex, _please_ ,” and Alex wonders how much longer Jack can go, how much more desperate he can sound. Maybe there’s a line here that they shouldn’t cross, but Alex thinks they might be just a little too late to turn back on that.

Jack’s hands wander, skidding over Alex’s t-shirt and landing lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of Alex’s jeans, and Alex knows — he knows what that means, or what it could mean, and he thinks maybe this is the line, if there’s going to be a line that they can still back away from; thinks this is probably where he should tell Jack to stop, but he doesn’t, and Jack doesn’t, just looks at him with wide eyes, fingertips like flames on Alex’s skin, and Alex is absolutely powerless. He nods wordlessly, closes his eyes to let it all wash over him, lets Jack do whatever he wants, until they both collapse against the pillows, exhausted, side by side again on Jack’s bed, and Alex thinks, _fuck_ , and he’s not even sure if it’s a good _fuck_ or a bad _fuck_.

He’s pretty sure something is different now. Something has to change, doesn’t it? But Jack just grins lazily over at Alex, and says, “That was fun,” and then curls up against his shoulder and falls asleep.

Everything is so easy for Jack. Alex watches him for a moment, catches his breath, and then shuffles down under the comforter and lets himself be lulled to sleep by the rhythm of Jack’s breathing.

Alex wakes up, and Jack is still there, asleep. His limbs are splayed across the bed, legs tangled with Alex’s. It feels domestic in a way that makes Alex’s heart clench. 

Also, his head is _pounding._

As soon as this realization sets in, he knows there’s no hope for being productive today. Jack’s still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the pain he’ll soon be in. Alex figures if he’s not going to get up, he might as well go back to sleep, but his hangover makes that pretty much impossible. 

Which means Alex is stuck. Alone. With his thoughts. Exactly where he _didn’t_ want to be. Great.

He doesn’t want to think about it, about any of it. The more he does, the more conflicted he feels, because he _is_ straight, he knows that, and he doesn’t want to date Jack, definitely not. But — but.

But there’s no denying it felt _good_. Alex mulls over this and decides it’s okay, because, well. Blowjobs are supposed to feel good, and — and with Jack it had. This isn’t that weird, anyway, because Jack’s not making it weird. They can be, like, friends with benefits. They kind of already are. Jack seems perfectly content with that, and Alex thinks he would be, too. He’s not attracted to guys, but it’s just Jack. Jack’s not even in the same category as the vast majority of guys. If Alex _were_ into guys and his first choice was Jack, he’d have some serious soul-searching to do.

By the time Jack stirs, Alex has concluded that as long as he and Jack can stay friends, and not make it weird, they can fool around all they like.

Jack opens his eyes. “Morning,” he says, and then groans. “Oh, _fuck._ Fuck.”

“Yeah, mine too,” Alex says sympathetically, because the hangover is really skull-crushing.

“Fuck this,” Jack says, burrowing into his pillows and Alex’s side. “I’m going back to sleep. Wake me when it’s Monday.”

Alex silently wishes him luck with that endeavor. “At least let me out,” is what he says. “I need a shower.”

“A _shower,_ ” Jack says. His head springs up suddenly from the pillows, and he says, “Oh my God, did I blow you last night?”

Alex blinks, many times. “Uh,” he says intelligently. “Yeah.”

“Damn,” Jack says. “Next time you blow me.”

 _Next time,_ Alex thinks, trying to hide how well that sits with him. “Don’t be demanding,” he says.

“Fuck you, I will be demanding,” Jack says petulantly. “I want my dick sucked.”

“Wait your turn,” Alex says. “Ask me next time we’re that drunk.”

“You won’t do it unless you’re _drunk?_ ”

Alex presses his lips together. He hadn’t really thought about it. “Not necessarily,” he says. Then, in a burst of courage: “Shower with me and find out.”

Jack laughs. “You’re on, asshole,” he says.

(Alex _does_ blow him, because he’s nice like that. But only after Jack begs.)

Alex gets used to…well, all of it. Jack doesn't make it weird, so neither does Alex. But every time it's just the two of them together, they inevitably end up making out, or sometimes more. After awhile, it doesn't even feel weird. Just feels like the usual. 

And it's not like Alex _forgets_ that it's supposed to be kind of a secret. He's the last person to want anyone to know; this thing between them can only survive if unobserved, like Schrodinger's friends with benefits, like some inverted solipsism. If anyone finds out, they'll ask questions, and Alex doesn't have any answers. Like _are you gay?_ (He's not.) _Are you together?_ (They're not.) _Do you want to be?_ (He doesn't. But he doesn't want Jack to be fucking anyone else, either, because then Alex will lose him, and he'll be alone with his thoughts again.)

The problem is that Jack is eager, and willing, and pliant. And Alex is needy. Call it a flaw.

Which brings them to band practice. 

"I'm getting soda," Rian announces, throwing down his drumsticks with a clatter. "Anyone want anything?"

Zack, from where he's sitting on Rian's basement couch, shoulder-to-shoulder with Jack, says, "Water?"

"Vodka," Jack says, grinning.

"I'll have what he's having," Alex says, leaning back against the couch from his spot on the floor.

Rian flips them off and heads upstairs. Alex sets his guitar aside; it seems like they're taking one of myriad unofficial breaks. Jack fiddles around on the fretboard, plays a cool riff, and then says, "Here, Zack, you make the chords, and I'll play."

Zack reaches under Jack's guitar and puts his fingers on the frets. Jack strums, grinning in delight at the clear chord that rings out.

Alex watches, trying to figure out what's happening, and whether or not he hates it. It shouldn't matter, it _doesn't_ matter if Jack is flirting with Zack, because they're just friends who fuck, not, like, boyfriends. And Alex doesn't want them to be. He's straight, anyway. 

But if something happens with Jack and Zack, Jack will probably stop being Alex's fuckbuddy.

 _Which is not a good reason to try and break up their budding romance,_ Alex's conscience reminds him. 

Alex flips off his conscience. He doesn't need to hear that shit. 

"Zack!"

Zack drops his hand and calls back, "Yeah?"

"You're handy, right?"

Jack poorly conceals a snicker. Zack elbows him. "Yeah," he yells up to Rian. 

"Any chance you know how to fix the water...thing? It's only coming out hot!"

Zack shakes his head, amused. "Probably," he calls. "I'll be back," he tells Jack and Alex. "Uh, in roughly six minutes. Don't touch the bass."

"Except to play it, right?" Jack says as Zack gets up to leave. "We can play the bass?"

"Try it!" Zack threatens over his shoulder, and then he's gone up the stairs.

Jack sets his guitar down and stretches out on the couch, resting his feet on the armrest. He reaches over and tugs a hand through Alex's hair. "You okay, Alex?" 

"Obviously," Alex says, too quickly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Jack shrugs. "You're quiet? I don't know. You tell me."

"I'm fine," Alex says. He glances up the stairs, then back at Jack. Jack mirrors the movement.

"Dude, they could come back any second," he says.

"Zack said six minutes," Alex points out.

"Wow. Six minutes. You really know how to get a guy going."

"Fine, don't make out with me while we're alone in the basement."

"You're the one with the weird secrecy complex, not me," Jack says. "I'm trying to look out for you."

God, Jack is frustrating with his thoughtfulness. “I’m offering to make out with you for six minutes,” Alex says.

Jack shrugs. “Okay. But I’m not moving.”

“God, you’re such a piece of shit.” Alex shifts to his knees and crawls onto the couch, leaning over Jack, and as soon as they’re close enough Jack’s mouth is open against his, and Alex brackets his arms around Jack’s head and slots their legs together and tries not to sigh in relief.

It feels _right_. It feels so inalienably right to be kissing Jack. It almost feels wrong not to do it. And it’s not intense or even particularly heated, not like the way Alex is used to with Jack, but it still feels like everything makes sense. As if Alex is a final puzzle piece, and he only fits in the world when he fits with Jack.

(There’s probably something there worth analyzing, or at the very least a lyric worth jotting down, but Alex’s senses are too full of Jack to think any further about it. And he doesn’t want to.)

They’d have probably stopped on their own in a moment, but instead Alex distantly registers heavy footsteps, and he exhales a gasp and moves away from Jack, ignoring the bewilderment on Jack’s face as he twists himself into a less compromising position.

Too late, though. Zack is standing at the foot of the stairs, eyes wide. Alex’s heart is racing and he doesn’t know if it’s from Jack or from getting caught, but he’s entirely at a loss for words, and so, it seems, is Zack.

Eventually, Zack says, “Just — the tool kit is down here.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Okay, this will be weird unless someone says something.”

“It’s fine,” Zack says quickly. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

But Alex feels like they kind of do, because whatever Zack is thinking right now it’s probably wrong. “We’re not, like, together,” he says, which immediately sounds terrible, but he can’t take it back. Weakly, he adds, “I’m straight.”

Zack nods slowly, disbelieving. “Uh-huh.”

“I am,” Alex says. Between Zack’s and Jack’s expressions, Alex finds himself wondering if anyone in the room believes that, himself included.

He is, though. He _is_ , has to be, because if he’s not then what does that mean? About him? About them? _Is_ there a “them”? 

“Okay,” Zack says. “Seriously. I don’t care if you guys are, like.” He gestures. “Whatever you are or aren’t. I’m gonna go fix the water.”

Wordlessly, he fetches the toolkit and climbs the stairs, but then briefly turns back. “I’m not gonna tell Rian, but I’m not gonna keep him from coming down here, so don’t, like. Yeah.”

And then he’s gone. Alex buries his face in his hands.

“It’s not so bad,” Jack says coolly. “It’s just Zack.”

Alex huffs a breath into his palms. “No, it’s terrible, Jack. Now he’s gonna think — whatever.”

“Think what?”

There’s an edge in Jack’s voice, and Alex doesn’t know how to explain that while half of him wants Jack all to himself, it’s not fair to either of them to keep it that way. If Jack wants to be with Zack, Alex shouldn’t be the thing getting in the way. And he wasn’t, before, because _before_ , Jack could have just ended it whenever, but now Zack knows, and it’s a big mess. But Jack hasn’t said anything about liking Zack like that, or wanting anything like that, and Alex isn’t going to usher in the end of their — their _thing_ by bringing it up. If Jack wanted to end it, wouldn’t he have done it already? 

“Nothing,” Alex says.

Jack cocks his head. “Think what?” he repeats. “He thinks we’re hooking up.”

“We kind of are.”

“Yeah, so what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem. Forget it.”

“We can stop.”

“I don’t want that. Do you want to stop?”

Jack shakes his head. “You sound like you want to stop.”

“Stop fucking putting words in my mouth,” Alex says irritably. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Hey,” Jack says, frowning. “Don’t take it out on me. It was _your_ idea to fuck around when they were just upstairs. I said it could backfire.”

Alex has to concede there, but he doesn’t have to like it. “It’s fine,” he says. Jack looks unconvinced. “It’s fucking fine, Jack, I don’t care if you don’t.”

“I don’t,” Jack says.

“Okay. Good.”

Then there are footsteps on the stairs, and the matter is closed for the moment, but it’s tense, Alex can tell. He hates that it’s tense; he and Jack are rarely tense. Alex can’t even think of the last time they disagreed for real, much less fought.

Well. Jack doesn’t care, so he says. Alex has to trust him on that. There’s really nothing else to do but carry on as they’ve been. They’ll just have to be more careful. _Alex_ will have to be more careful.

Apparently Alex doesn’t know “careful.”

Everything feels too obvious now that Zack knows. Rehearsal had ended awkwardly, and even Rian had picked up on it, though his only reaction had been an apprehensive narrowing of his eyes. And lately Alex can’t imagine how neither of their bandmates hadn’t picked up on it before, because everything they do feels glaringly obvious. Every word he says to Jack feels like a cover, even when he’s just asking for the math homework or talking about a song they might learn to play. It’s like there’s a neon sign over them both, like Jack is wearing a shirt that says _I’m hooking up with stupid_ and Alex has _I’m stupid_ tattooed over his forehead.

(He feels like it, more and more every day.)

So he does the only thing he can possibly think to do: he drifts.

It’s easier than it should be, maybe because Jack doesn’t dare push him. First Jack asks if he wants to hang out on the weekend and Alex casually turns him down with the excuse of “going to a symphony with my parents,” and then Jack asks if Alex wants to come over after school and Alex apologetically says he has to catch up on a bunch of homework (which he does, but he spends the whole afternoon thinking about how much he’d prefer to be with Jack and then trying not to think about that anymore, which makes him incredibly confused). Jack asks a couple more times, but eventually he stops, probably around the time that Alex stops meeting his eyes when he says no.

It’s not like they never see each other. But Alex knows he’s building a brick wall between them, and he can’t get himself to stop.

It’s complicated, but Alex wants it to be simple, and the simplest thing he can think to do is break it off, even if that’s also what makes him the most miserable. Jack wants to be with Zack, probably, and Alex had been in the way of that — the whole time it had just been Jack humoring Alex, anyway, it’s not like Jack wants to be hooking up with Alex _specifically_. And it’s not like Alex wants to be hooking up with Jack, either, because he doesn’t like guys, he really doesn’t, and he tells himself that until it just sounds like nonsense syllables, until he stares at himself in the blurry reflection of his window at night and realizes he hasn’t believed it in a long time.

His reflection looks at him with contempt, so Alex shuts his blinds and gets in bed and wonders how he fucked up so bad he fell for _Jack._

“Okay,” Jack says angrily, cutting Alex off on his way to English on Tuesday, “cut it out. What the fuck is going on with you?”

Alex stares at him uneasily. “What?”

“You’re avoiding me,” Jack says, “and don’t try and pretend like you’re not. I know you are. And I know it’s because of the — the thing with Zack. But you can’t just cut me out, man.”

The _thing_ with Zack. Jack’s thing with Zack. Or whatever it is. Last Alex had known, there hadn’t been a “thing” to speak of, with Jack and Zack, but he _has_ been avoiding Jack, so maybe that’s changed. Maybe there’s a thing. Alex should probably ask. If he were a good friend, he would ask. If he were a good friend, he would be happy for Jack.

If he were a good friend, he wouldn’t be avoiding Jack.

“I’m not avoiding you,” he lies. “I’ve been really busy.”

“I _just_ said don’t pretend you’re not.” Jack falls into step with Alex as he starts walking. “You’re being an asshole.”

“I’m not being an asshole. It’s for the best.”

“What’s for the best? Completely removing me from your life?” Jack drops his voice low. “Are you, like — embarrassed to be seen with me, or something? It’s just Zack.”

“Yeah, _exactly,_ ” Alex says, frustrated. “It’s _Zack._ Your — like — forget it.”

Jack stares. “It’s me, right?”

For a moment, Alex can’t decipher Jack’s tone, and then he does, and he realizes he’s never heard Jack sound like this before, not to Alex. 

He sounds hurt.

“What’s you?”

Jack shakes his head. “Come on, Alex, don’t be such a dick. Look, I don’t care if you want to have this fucking sexuality crisis, but have the decency to tell me.”

“I’m not —” Well, he is having a sexuality crisis, or at least he _had_ been, but that’s not the point. “I’m not trying to cut you out,” Alex hisses instead. “I just don’t think it makes sense for us to keep…doing what we were doing.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Yeah, _duh_ , I can tell. So then fucking say that, dude, I don’t care.” Every time he says he doesn’t care Alex winces. It’s just solidifying what he’d already known, that it was just a chance to get off, for Jack, and it’s not like Alex has any right to be upset about that because for all Jack knows that’s all it was to Alex too. Until recently, that’s all it _had_ been to Alex. He can’t say _I know you don’t care but I do,_ not at this point. It’s too late. This isn’t really salvageable.

Well. Their arrangement isn’t salvageable. Their friendship, maybe.

“Maybe we should talk,” Alex blurts out, before his stupid brain can convince him not to. “Like, not here.”

Jack frowns. “You wanna ditch?”

Alex had meant more along the lines of waiting until school ended, if only to give him a chance to collect his thoughts, but he does kind of want to ditch, anyway. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure. You can come to mine.”

“Fine.” Jack gives Alex a hard look. “I’m pissed off, just so you know.”

Like he thinks Alex won’t be able to tell otherwise. Alex wants to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t want to piss Jack off more. “Um, yeah. I know.”

“Fine,” Jack repeats. “Let’s just go.”

It’s a good thing Alex lives so close to school, because neither of them says anything until they’re through his front door.

“You want, um…water or anything?” 

Jack gives him a sharp glare. “No, Alex, I want you to explain to me why you’re suddenly not talking to me.”

Well. Alex probably deserves that.

“Fine,” he says, hoping that Jack can’t tell how nervous he is. It’s not like he really has anything to be nervous about. All he’s doing is telling Jack what Jack already knows — that they shouldn’t fuck around anymore so that Alex doesn’t get in the way of whatever Jack might want to pursue with Zack. 

He could, and maybe should, tell Jack that he’s lately determined he’s not as straight as he once swore to be. But thinking about that really does make Alex’s heart beat twice as fast, and not in a fun way.

Jack sits down, cross-legged on the kitchen tiles, so Alex follows suit, sitting across from him on the open floor. “Okay,” says Alex, pressing his lips together. “Uh…well, like I said. I think we shouldn’t — um, you know. Hook up anymore.”

“Okay, fine,” Jack says, sounding frustrated. “Jesus Christ, Alex, I don’t care about _that_. You’re not just some guy to fuck and forget about, you’re my best friend. Or at least I thought you were. I thought we were. If you don’t want to be —”

“Of course I do!”

“Well it sure the fuck doesn’t seem like it!”

“I didn’t want to get in the way of your thing with Zack,” Alex says desperately. “I wanted to —”

“My _what?_ ”

“Look, it was fine before anyone knew.” Alex twists his fingers together, reaching blindly for the words. “‘Cause we could call it off whenever and no one gets hurt, right?” _Except me. I’d have gotten hurt._ “But now Zack knows, and I didn’t want to get in the way of you guys. It’s — I’m not an asshole.” Jack’s face is a whole assortment of emotions, but at this he scoffs. “Okay,” Alex relents. “Maybe I am.”

“Yeah, you are,” Jack says scornfully. “What the fuck do you mean about me and Zack?”

“Come on,” Alex says. “You’ve been flirting with him since, like, literally since before he was in the band. You told me you wanted to suck his dick.” 

Jack’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? You think I like _Zack?_ Just because I said I want to suck his dick?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Although the look of disbelief on Jack’s face is causing Alex’s confidence to wane by the second. Powering through, he continues, “I still want to be your friend, I still want to be best friends, I just don’t think you should be hooking up with me if — like, I can explain to Zack —”

“Oh my God, will you shut up about Zack?” Jack says irritably. “I don’t know where you got the idea that I like him, but you can drop it. I don’t like Zack, okay? I never liked Zack.”

Alex gapes. “But you said…you can’t tell me you haven’t been flirting with him.” 

“I’m going to tell you that right now,” Jack says. “I haven’t been flirting with him. What the fuck, Alex? Is that the reason you’re avoiding me? Because you thought I had a crush on Zack? You think if I liked someone else, I wouldn’t have the balls to break it off with you?” 

Alex bites his lip. “It just didn’t seem fair to leave it to you. If I _knew_.”

“You didn’t know shit,” Jack huffs. He pulls a hand through his hair, mussing it up. Alex wants to reach over and fix it, rearrange Jack’s fringe so it sits right on his face but without covering his eyes, because with the way his eyes catch the sunlight it would be nothing short of criminal to cover them. And there’s no excuse for hiding his eyelashes, either, long and dark and far too pretty for a boy like Jack. It’s startling to think about Jack like this when Alex has avoided it for so long, or maybe he’s just never noticed before, never wanted to, never let himself. Now, though, Alex is sure he couldn’t convince anyone, himself included, that he doesn’t think Jack’s one of the prettiest people he’s ever met. 

“So…” Alex chews the inside of his cheek. “So then you _don’t_ have a crush on Zack.”

“Of fucking course I don’t,” Jack says, exasperated. “Jesus.”

“Okay, well, sorry for wanting to be careful.”

Jack squints suspiciously. “And you were avoiding me because you wanted to give me a chance with Zack? Seriously, that’s it?”

Alex nods. “Why else would I have?”

“Because he saw us,” Jack says. “He knew. I thought you got freaked out.”

“Oh,” Alex says. He blinks. “Um, freaked out how?”

“Well, I don’t know if you remember,” Jack says coolly, “but the only thing you had to say when Zack caught us kissing was, ‘We’re not together, and I’m straight.’ It sounded a little bit like you got freaked out.”

Alex swallows. “Ah.”

“And then you stopped hanging out with me,” Jack continues, “and then you stopped talking to me completely. So excuse me for thinking maybe you were having some kind of gay panic.”

He sounds so tired, Alex thinks; he sounds tired of Alex, or tired by Alex, or at least tired of dealing with Alex’s bullshit. Alex can’t blame him — he’s tired of himself too. He’d gotten so sick of his own shit that he’d finally admitted to being not-quite-straight. To liking _Jack._ To flipping his own foundation on its head.

Still, the idea that Jack might be sick of Alex — that this might be the beginning of the end of their friendship, the last straw for them, just because of Alex’s stupidity — makes Alex want to cry.

There has to be some ground he can give. There has to be.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says, and suddenly realizes he hasn’t said that yet. Fuck. He really is an asshole, isn’t he? “I should have talked to you before I tried to ice you out.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Jack mutters, but his posture’s less stiff and he’s fiddling with the cuff of his jeans, so at least he’s not mad anymore. “It’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”

It’s not really okay, though. Alex can tell there’s something else. Something’s still wrong. “Hey, tell me what you’re thinking,” he insists. “I’m sure I have more shit to apologize for but I need you to tell me what.”

Jack looks at his hands and doesn’t stop fidgeting. “I thought it was because it was me,” he mumbles. “Like, you were embarrassed to be caught with _me._ Because I’m me.”

The air catches in Alex’s throat. “ _What?_ Of course not.” Then, realizing that there’s no way Jack could have possibly read Alex’s mind in the moment, he amends, “I mean, fuck. Not of course, but like, of course.” A mirthless laugh slips off his tongue. “I’m not trying to say that it’s not you, it’s me, but it really was me. I’d never be embarrassed to be caught with you or kissing you or whatever it is you thought. You’re a catch. I’d be _lucky._ Fuck.”

Jack doesn’t look at Alex, but his fingers stop flitting around the hem of his jeans. “You wouldn’t be lucky to be caught kissing me, Alex. You’re straight.”

Alex’s heart skips more than one beat. “Uh,” he says. He traps his tongue between his teeth, soaking up the sting it leaves to bite down. His palms are so slick with sweat that wiping them on his thighs does virtually nothing, and his heart rate is skyrocketing, but if anything is an opening, it’s this, and Alex knows he’d feel wrong not telling Jack. He swallows hard. “No, um, actually. Not — not anymore.”

Jack looks up sharply. “What?”

“I mean I’m not. Straight.” Alex can’t tell if it’s easier or harder to say now, having said it already but not with Jack’s eyes boring into his like this. “I thought about it. And I figured out I’m not.”

Jack stares. “Oh,” he says dimly. “Good for you.” He shakes his head. “I mean, sorry — I’m happy for you. Proud. It’s hard to admit, and I’m — I’m happy for you.”

Alex feels irrationally like he’s going to cry, and he can’t cry in front of Jack, _especially_ not about this. Not when Jack has been out for who knows how long and Alex has been so deep in his well of denial that at this point he’s drowning. Despite _literally_ hooking up with a boy, he’s been spitting _I’m straight_ into Jack’s face for weeks. Jack would have zero sympathy for Alex, and he shouldn’t. Alex hasn’t earned sympathy for this. Alex needs to suck it up.

“Seriously,” Jack says gently, surprising Alex. “I’m proud of you.”

“You don’t have to be proud of me,” Alex says uncomfortably. “It’s not a big deal.” At least it hadn’t felt like one in the privacy of his bedroom, his only company a blurry likeness of himself in his night-backed window. Now it feels like a big deal, though Alex really wants it not to be. 

“Okay,” Jack says. “Not a big deal. Fine.” 

For the hundred thousandth time, Alex realizes that Jack is far too good for him. And the fact that he thinks Alex would be _embarrassed_ by him is still pulling at Alex’s heartstrings. It’s on the tip of his tongue to admit that the only reason Alex had ever been able to figure it out had been Jack, had been trying to put his feelings into words only to find that Jack’s name kept forcing its way into the sentences. 

But, always and forever, Alex is scared.

“Are we okay?” he asks instead.

Jack nods. “No more hooking up, you like dick, I don’t have a crush on Zack.”

Alex laughs. “Uh, basically.”

Jack gives him a thumbs up and a smile, and Alex wants to melt. “Then yup. We’re on the same page.”

“Wait,” Alex says. He hesitates. This is the lull they used to fill by fucking around, and it seems wasteful not to take advantage of skipping class in an empty house. They’ve decided they’re not doing that anymore, but now Alex isn’t sure why. He’d only wanted to end it thinking Jack was going after Zack, and now that he’s not, why _shouldn’t_ they hook up? “If you still want to, like…”

“You’re giving me some mixed signals here, man.” Jack gives Alex an expectant look, and Alex wishes he weren’t blushing about this of all things. He’s literally made Jack beg, but somehow he’s the one on his knees now. 

“It’s not that I wanted to stop,” Alex says. “Now that you don’t like Zack —”

“Okay, I _never_ liked Zack —”

“Right, exactly! So why, uh, why can’t we?”

Jack eyes him critically. “And it still means nothing, right?” When Alex blanches: “I didn’t forget, dude. How many times did you remind me it meant nothing when we started?”

Oh. Right. Thinking back on that makes Alex cringe. How insistent he’d been, how easygoing Jack had been in return.

And here’s another opening; if Alex misses this chance he might never get another, and if he does he’s not sure he’ll have the guts to say it like he does now. So.

So fuck it.

“It can mean something,” he says nervously. 

Jack stares.

“I mean,” Alex says, realizing that Jack hasn’t made any indication that that’s what he wants, “it would mean something to me, so…we shouldn’t unless it would mean something to you too. Which it doesn’t have to. It’s cool if not.”

Jack stares more, hardly moving. Alex feels compelled to keep talking, anything to fill the silence, but he holds his tongue.

“What?” Jack finally says. “What are you saying?”

Alex frowns. “What it sounds like.”

“It sounds like you’re saying you like me,” Jack says, in a tone bordering on hysterical. “Sounds like you want to be more than friends, Alex, that’s what it sounds like.”

Alex swallows. “Well, yeah,” he says quietly.

Somehow Jack is still staring. “Since when?”

Alex squirms under the heat of his gaze. It’s not really fair of him to put Alex on the spot like this, especially when he’s being entirely opaque about his own feelings, but it’s not like Alex has been particularly fair to Jack lately. He deserves this. “Uh…last week?”

“Last week?” Jack echoes incredulously. He swallows, shakes his head. “You’re serious?”

“Yes?” Alex says uncertainly, pinching the skin on his hand. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip. “I can’t tell if this is a positive or negative reaction.” 

Jack exhales. “Positive,” he says, and Alex’s heart somehow simultaneously leaps into his throat and stills in his chest. “I’m just, like, uh, surprised. I mean, five minutes ago you were straight, and now you like me?” He huffs a laugh. “ _Me?_ ” 

“What do you mean, _you?_ You’re hot,” Alex says defensively. Jack blushes, maybe the first time Alex has ever seen him do that in response to a compliment. “And as for your personality, I dunno either, dude.” 

Jack makes a face. “Hey, fuck you.” But he’s laughing, and so is Alex, probably just from nerves and the hilarity of it all, and it feels so good to laugh about something with Jack again that Alex happily succumbs. The look on Jack’s face is worth it, silly grin stretching the corners of his mouth and eyes crinkling.

“So, look,” Alex finally says, once they’ve collected themselves. “Last time I got my wires crossed and I’m not doing that again. Do you like me or not?”

“Yes,” Jack says, sending a hurricane of butterflies awhirl in Alex’s gut. “Should I even bother asking if you like me?”

Alex figures he could make a joke, but it’s not really worth it. He leans forward, balancing on his knees as the space between him and Jack gets smaller. “Yeah, yeah, I do,” he murmurs. “Can I kiss you? God, can I please kiss you?”

“If you don’t, I will fuck you up,” Jack says, and captures the last of Alex’s laugh in a kiss. 

Maybe it’s just because it’s been a couple weeks, but it feels somehow like a first kiss and a familiar kiss wrapped in one. And it kind of is, Alex muses; they’ve kissed before, but never like this. One of Alex’s hands is flat on the cold tile of the kitchen floor and the other curls around Jack’s neck, pulling him near, holding him close. Jack, with nothing as trivial as balance to worry about, presses both palms against Alex’s cheeks, sliding his tongue over Alex’s bottom lip like he’s done so many times before. Alex feels suddenly like it’s not enough, like this isn’t good enough; the way he feels about Jack is new but overwhelmingly intense, and he doesn’t think that Jack understands.

Jack pulls back for a second, just enough to breathe, “Alex,” and Alex has never, ever heard his name like that before. It makes his heart ram violently against his ribcage, makes him lean away from Jack to move from his awkward and kind of uncomfortable position on the floor, instead straddling Jack’s waist before ducking down to trail kisses along the column of his throat, hands everywhere he can manage to put them. Jack giggles, which feels funny on Alex’s lips. “Holy shit, Alex, this is like every single one of my sexual fantasies right now.”

That startles a laugh out of Alex, and he can’t stop smiling enough to recover, so he just hides his face in Jack’s neck. “What the fuck are you talking about? Making out on my kitchen floor is your sexual fantasy?”

“Making out with _you_ on your kitchen floor, yeah,” Jack says bluntly, pulling at the ends of Alex’s hair just enough to send a thrill down Alex’s spine. “After you admit that I made you gay, while we cut class. Yeah, this checks basically all the boxes.”

“You didn’t _make me gay,_ ” Alex argues, because that’s not how that works, even though really Jack basically did. He pulls back to look Jack in the face. “Also, if this is as exciting as your sexual fantasies get, then I am going to blow your fucking mind.”

Jack wraps his arms around Alex’s neck and hums, “I am so looking forward to that,” before he catches his lips on Alex’s again, and Alex decides the bliss of this moment might outweigh the instinct to make fun of Jack, just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like the character growth of me literally being mindblown and embarrassed the first time i posted an M-rated fic to me right now just shamelessly posting this kinda shit........you know what that is. growth
> 
> anyway i'm on tumblr as usual [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) come say hey <3


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